


Nobody's Fault But Mine

by candypinksocks



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candypinksocks/pseuds/candypinksocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'there are times where if I’m not giving Breckin the attention that he wants, he’ll push my buttons...'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Fault But Mine

**Author's Note:**

> For the F&B kink meme prompt - MPG said this in an interview about life on set:
> 
> there are times where if I’m not giving Breckin the attention that he wants, he’ll push my buttons
> 
> Prompt: Mark-Paul is spending time with other people on set, and Breckin acts out, being bitchy and sarcastic or whatever, until eventually Mark-Paul gets tired of it, and takes him to his trailer to sort him out. Breckin's expecting a good hard fuck like usual, but instead MP decides to discipline him properly. A simple spanking, or whatever else floats your boat.

_There are times where if I'm not giving Breckin the attention that he wants, he'll push my buttons._

The bread roll hits Mark-Paul square and perfect on the back of the head, crumbs littering his shoulders and flour sticking to his hair. Breckin's expecting at least a little flinch, but Mark-Paul just ignores it, delivers his line even after cut's been called and everyone but Mark-Paul groans and looks right at Breckin.

He pulls his best _'what?'_ face and sneaks the piece of cantaloupe he has in his hand for the next shot back onto the craft tray. It can wait.

He sticks double-sided tape to Mark-Paul's prop phone before he slips it back into Peter's inside breast pocket, pats it nice and hard just to make sure it's in there good and proper and turns to take his mark, Jared Franklin back on. Peter's phone pings and Mark-Paul practically rips the pocket out of the jacket trying to take it out, but he doesn't even miss a beat, just takes Peter's jacket off like it was scripted and reaches into his pants pocket for his own phone and uses that for the scene instead.

It's nine am, they've been here since five thirty and Breckin's only just getting started. It's gonna be a long assed day.

There's flour under the prop briefs Peter needs to read from, crazy glue on Peter's seat back at the cave set and Breckin swaps out the jelly donuts for ones filled with habañero chilli jam (that wasn't easy and he was saving that one for another time but -) and nothing does a damn thing.

It's frustrating. He's obviously not bringing his 'A' game.

After lunch he tries a few old favorites; itching powder in Peter's suit pants after they go for a costume change and a whoopee cushion on Peter's office chair. They get told to take five and cool off after that one, not that Mark-Paul isn't cool already, doesn't even raise an eyebrow, just picks the cushion up, squeezes out the last of the air and - Breckin's pleased to hear - another fart, before folding it and tucking it into his pocket before walking off set. 

He doesn't look at Breckin before he goes and now Breckin's _pissed_.

His phone vibrates against his leg seconds later.

_my trailer now_

Breckin grins, mouths _'gotcha'_ at no one in particular and takes his own damn time getting there.

He doesn't knock and it's not locked so he walks right in. Just like he does every other time.

"Dude, what the fuck's going on with you today?" His jacket's off before he's even all the way through the door, tie pulled loose as he shuts it behind him, locks and checks it just to be sure and then he's kicking his shoes off and dumping his jacket on the chair by the door. Mark-Paul still hasn't answered. "Hey!"

Still nothing and this is getting ridiculous.

"Ass face!" He walks through the trailer, which takes all of thirty seconds - this is TNT not Disney - opening the door to the bathroom first and then the bedroom.

Mark-Paul's sitting on the edge of the bed, hasn't even looked up, he's just sitting there looking at his hands. They're very nice hands, Breckin knows just what they can do, but he's not sure they warrant _staring_ at. But whatever.

"And I say again, what's up with you today?"

"You need to stop talking."

"I don't - what the fuck, man?" And then Mark-Paul's up in Breckin's face and he's got a hand on Breckin's tie and the other gripping his vest to get him closer, not that there's much room to get closer.

"Stop. Talking."

Breckin stops talking.

"Thank you." Mark-Paul doesn't let go, doesn't step back and there's the tiniest little smirk playing at the edge of his lips, one Breckin can't help but return. 

This isn't something they do very often, but he likes it just fine.

"I'm going to kiss you now and you don't get to do anything but stand there and take it, don't touch me and don't say a word." Mark-Paul kisses him before he's even got a chance to nod, hand framing Breckin's jaw, thumb pulling at his bottom lip, dragging it down, teeth catching at it before he sweeps his tongue over the sting and then he's pulling away all too fast and Breckin doesn't have to worry about talking 'cause he can't think of a single word anyway.

"Good." Mark-Paul steps back and the first thing Breckin does is reach for him and it's a rookie mistake, he knows it is 'cause that's not the way it goes.

"Not yet." And now Mark-Paul's full on grinning, like he's got a plan and Breckin's his bitch, which - if Breckin thinks about it - ain't far off true right now.

Trouble is they were given five and it's way past that and a PA's gonna be knocking on the door any second now and he really wants to get fucked.

"No one's coming so you can relax. Got us an hour." Mark-Paul's got his hands on Breckin's pants now, makes short work of the button and fly, pulls his shirt up as the pants fall to puddle at Breckin's feet.

Breckin goes to unbutton his vest, get his tie off.

"Leave them on." And okay, that's not new new but this isn't some quickie in wardrobe between scenes.

He might not be able to talk but that doesn't mean he can't use his face, he's good at that and he raises one eyebrow perfectly.

And Mark-Paul actually blushes and the whole façade is kinda fucked then but it doesn't matter, Breckin doesn't care. "Just like 'em okay? Now shut up and behave." And there's that tone _finally_ , just what he's been pushing for all damn day. Can't help but grin and wriggle his eyebrows.

"Oh, this isn't going where you think it's going." Mark-Paul steps right back then, sits on the bed, rests his hands either side of his thighs and leans back a little to look up at Breckin. "Get over here." He flicks his eyes down to his lap and it's really fucking obvious how much Mark-Paul's liking where this is going and if he's honest, Breckin is too, even if he's not really sure where _this_ is.

He goes to straddle Mark-Paul's lap, get his arms up on Mark-Paul's shoulders, is stopped by a hand on his chest.

"Across."

Oh.

"You kinky motherfucker." And that just slipped out, honest it did. Breckin clamps a hand over his mouth real quick to stop anything else coming out and Mark-Paul's got his own line in perfect eyebrow too.

"Might let you have that one, you know, seeing as it's kinda true."

Breckin would be embarrassed about the noise he makes then, if Mark-Paul hadn't heard them all before anyway.

"So do it." It's a couple of quick steps and an even quicker maneuver and then he's laying over fucking Mark-Paul Gosselaar's fucking lap, in a shirt and vest he has to work in later, hard as fucking rock. 

Breckin's life is nothing if not interesting.

He shifts a little to settle, gets his arms crossed in front, chin resting on his forearms, crotch resting just right in the 'V' of Mark-Paul's thighs.

He's expecting the first slap, just not how hard it is; the sting sharp and hot all at once, makes him flinch and suck in a breath and bite his own lip. And that was over his underwear.

"That's the bread roll."

The second one he's sort of ready for but not, it comes too soon and just as hard as the first and his hips rock down to get his ass away and that's just - oh - 

"The tape."

He gets two next, quick and sharp but Mark-Paul's not pulling back, instead he's pushing Breckin's ass down, his palm rubbing slow circles up 'til he gets his fingers in the back of Breckin's underwear, yanks it down to sit under his ass cheeks, runs his fingers around the palm print on Breckin's ass and it still hurts but it's really fucking _good_.

"Flour and crazy glue." And then Mark-Paul's hand is gone and Breckin's left a little breathless. And it's habañero chilli jam next.

Oh fuck.

It feels like the longest time; Mark-Paul's not touching him, not saying anything either and Breckin goes to lift his head to see what's going on and gets it shoved back down again just as quick, Mark-Paul's fingers tangled up in his hair hard enough to hurt.

"You don't get to see, you get to stay right there and take it." And he gets another quick slap. "That one doesn't count."

There's no controlling his hips then, or the way his thighs fall wide, one leg dangerously close to falling off Mark-Paul's thighs.

The next four - _four_ \- start off lower, right across the crease of his thigh and up again, no two places the same and harder than the one before it and Mark-Paul's breathless when he's done and Breckin's ass is on fire and he's not ashamed to admit, fucking himself down onto Mark-Paul's lap, barely thinking just doing, pushing his ass back again in a silent _more_.

"Habañero jam." It's barely more than a whisper but Breckin hears it just the same, makes a stupid whining noise in reply and just rocks his hips down again.

Mark-Paul pushes at Breckin's shirt, drags his fingers through the sweat pooling at the small of his back, paints a line up Breckin's spine 'til the shirt gets in the way and he's tugging on Breckin's hair hard as his palm lands again, just once, right at the top of Breckin's thigh.

"Itching powder."

And again at the top of the other thigh.

"Whoopee cushion - really?" And again right in the center and again over one cheek and again over the next, fast and hard and Breckin's actually fucking Mark-Paul's thighs now, his own fist in his mouth to keep from making a single fucking sound and it's almost impossible but he fucking does it.

He's so close it's stupid, he's not eighteen and it's not like he's never had his ass spanked before but this is something else. He wants to say something, to tell Mark-Paul, to - _Jesus_ \- ask if he fucking _can_. And if that shit's not fucked up he doesn't know what is, but he's liking it just fine so he's not gonna sweat it.

And then the hand in his hair's gone, the hand on his ass too and he's left fucking hanging.

He's getting up real close and personal with that whining noise.

"Ask me nicely."

There's a second there where he thinks _'yeah, no, fuck that shit'_ but that's just a second and then he's over it, quick as that.

"Wanna come - come on, fucking _need_ to -"

"Please -" Mark-Paul's hand is hovering close enough that Breckin can feel it, a tease and a dare and he's so gonna pay for that. Just - later.

"Please -" And then he's got Mark-Paul's forearm across his back and Mark-Paul's hand back in his hair and he's getting his ass handed to him hard and fast, he can't feel the breaks between each slap, just sting and burn and heat and he's riding Mark-Paul's thigh, not bothering to smother the sound anymore, cussing and biting at Mark-Paul's thigh when he yanks on Breckin's hair and lands his palm right dead center and that is fucking _it_.

It's _'knocked right over the edge, ground coming up fast and your brains on the pavement'_ hard, hips stuttering, breath useless and there's still more, pushing him hard and it's too much, he can't get away and he doesn't want. There's two more, just to be sure he got the message, before he's a heap in Mark-Paul's lap. A brainless, quite possibly brain-dead, heap.

"Holy _shit_." He's got a mouthful of cheap trailer comforter, but the sentiment is there.

"Yeah," and Mark-Paul sounds as fucked out as he feels. He feels a little guilty that this was kind of a one-way street. He could do something about that.

He lifts his head, gets his arms under himself and half turns, half lifts himself up so he can see. And Mark-Paul _looks_ as fucked out as Breckin feels.

"Want me to -?" He's going for sliding off to get on the floor, but it looks more like a flail.

"Nah, I'm good." Mark-Paul grins and rolls his hips up, knocks Breckin the rest of the way off and onto the floor.

"And I say again, kinky motherfucker."

Breckin gets a toe in the ribs for that and a hand up after.

"Let's see you ride your motorcycle home and then we'll talk about kinky."

**Author's Note:**

> For Vic and Jen


End file.
